


John tries to ignore it

by agnesanutter



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Post-His Last Vow, Post-Season/Series 03, Use of the word "cum"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-08
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-08 06:38:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4294512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agnesanutter/pseuds/agnesanutter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson just needs a few moments alone to take matters into his own hands. Yes, obviously, literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John tries to ignore it

John tries to ignore it. Of course he does. It's been weeks, maybe even months. And today finally, finally he was alone. And the plan was definitely to take advantage of the time. Something more than those quick tugs in the shower, the ones that most blokes swear by as a good way to release the tension. He has never found that to be the case. It always makes it a tad worse for him, reminding him of what he doesn't have.  No, John Watson, doesn't like something quickly done. John likes to take his time and he would do that today.

Mary was gone to see friends. That's all she said and John didn't question it. After all that was part of the accord they seemed to reach. He wouldn't ask and she definitely would tell. At least not until it was time. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement that when the baby was born then things would be discussed. Until then they lived in the same house, even slept in the same bed but bedsides one quick hand job when he first came home they never seemed to be on the same page anymore. 

So of course he tried to ignore the damn ringing door bell and the bloody knocking. He could easily guess who it was. Since John came over all neighborly that one day, word spread and he became known among the neighbors as good fellow to truly want to pitch in and help. So he did. He didn't mind at first--a few shelves here, a mowed lawn there. He didn't even balk when neighbors started coming to him with medical questions once they found out he was a doctor. 

_Knock, Knock_

But here and now he just needs time for himself.  So he'll continue to ignore the knocking and ringing. He absolutely has to ignore it. He's nude after all, sat on his bed, hand on his cock, giving it a stroke. He's not even conjuring up his favorite stock of images. No, he just wants to feel it because it's been bloody long since he could enjoy the sensation.

_Knock, Knock_

So he strokes up again, gives it gentle twist, strokes down and tries to focus on the glide, the motion, the touch of his hand on his cock and...

_Knock, Knock, Ring, Ring, Knock._

"Fuck. Shit. Bugger," he says between clenched teeth. He stands, grabs his dressing gown, wraps it around himself. He speedily walks down the stairs. It's enough. He's going to throw open the door, yell at the bleedin' neighbors until they understand boundaries. 

John yanks the door open, mouth poised to shout the most colorful obscenities, including the myriad he learned in the army, when he looks up to see Sherlock standing in front of him.

"Sher-"

"John," Sherlock says sweeping past him and into his home. "Double homicide, entire home cleaned of all evidence, could very well be a serial killer. Get dressed!"

Sherlock is, of course, talking quickly and ignoring that John is looking at him dumbfounded. John wants to point out this is actually the first time Sherlock has actually been inside his home , but he's transfixed on the fact that Sherlock's moved to the kitchen and started making coffee, finding everything with ease.

"I'll make you a cup as well. Go!"

"Sherlock, I was in the middle of-," John stops himself. Was he really about to tell Sherlock that he as having a nice, long wank and can him and his murder victims please just give him a few more minutes to rub one out properly? He scrubs his hands over his face, shakes his head as if to help the haze of everything fall away. "Just give me a few minutes."

 

Sherlock walks from the kitchen to within inches of John. Looks him up and down, but if he sees something he doesn't say. He simply nods his head and turns towards John's book shelf. "Of course. I'll alphabetize your books."

"I like them the way they are now," John says. 

"Nonsense. No one could possibly enjoy this disorganization."

 

"Can and do." Then John realizes it might just give him enough time to get back to it. And he could definitely get back to it. He's been in barracks with sixty blokes not far away and he's been able to get to it. Surely one consulting detective is as easy to ignore. Even if it is Sherlock. "Yeah, actually do that. I'll be down in ten yeah?"

 

"Yes, fine," Sherlock says as he takes down about eight books at once and is reaching for another handful.

"Right," John says, he's darting to the stairs and escape. He knows Sherlock has his task and won't be moved until he's done. It's a bit mad but he's not going to lose this chance. John races up the stairs and into his bedroom, closes the door.  Just as he hears the click of the door he takes off his dressing gown and throws it to the bed.

This will be quicker than he'd planned but still better than what's become the norm. He sits on the edge of the bed and opens his legs, puts his hand on his cock and gives a firm stroke. He must want it bad, he thinks, because almost involuntarily he thrusts forward into his hand and it's fuckin' lovely. He reaches his free hand across the bed to find the lube he abandoned earlier. Still there and still uncapped. John squeezes out just a bit onto his shaft and lets it ooze down. He smooths a hand to spread it on fully isn't that fuckin perfect? 

He still doesn't let his mind wander to images or previous encounters, this isn't a time for fantasy but about the beautiful feeling he's feeling right now. He does close his eyes and establishes a pace.  He is thrusting easily into his hand and enjoying the glide of skin over the head of cock, the warming sensation of the lube, the trickle of precum and lube that's traveled to his balls. He is a bit lost in the amazing feeling. So it's no wonder he doesn't hear the door open, doesn't notice Sherlock standing in front of him looking down, directly at his crotch. He does hear the shuddering intake of breath and his eyes pop open.

 

"Sherlock, what the? Get out!" John grabs the dressing gown and covers himself, uses his other hand to point to the door in case the sodding idiot forgot just where the hell to go.

 

But Sherlock doesn't move. He doesn't move a centimeter. His eyes remain fixed on John's now covered crotch. Sherlock is taking quick, shallow breaths and he is unblinking. For a second John begins to wonder if he's okay.

 

"Sherlock?"

"John." His voice is a rough whisper.  John wouldn't have heard him if it wasn't so quiet. "I-I finished," Sherlock says.

"What?" John asks. He doesn't know what the hell Sherlock is taking about until he remembers the task he left him with before heading up here to begin what has to be the most humiliating experience of his life. "Oh. Well done you. Can you leave now? I'd like to as well." He tries for humor, but Sherlock, as usual, isn't picking it up.

 

"John," Sherlock says. John is sure he hears a question in there but what could Sherlock want right this very minute? "John, will you finish please?"

 

"I-"

 

"May I watch?"

 

"What?"

 

"Please."

 

John searches Sherlock's face, tries to meet his eyes, wants to bloody well understand what he's on about. Sherlock for only a flicker of a second meets John's eyes then refocuses back to John's hand that's firmly holding down the dressing gown. In that sliver of a moment John doesn't see everything like Sherlock sees but he does see a desire he's never seen before. Before thinking he removes the dressing gown and takes his shaft back in his hand.

 

Sherlock immediately falls to his knees, except he somehow makes it look graceful. His mouth opens as if to say something but he remains quiet, still. He doesn't stir even when John reaches to add more lube, or when John cups his balls and rolls them before returning to his shaft.

 

John doesn't let himself think, he simply goes forward. He changes his stroke speed as he so enjoys, he makes his fist firm then gentles the skin over the head and then down again. He moans. He lets himself moan low and needy because it feels amazing and God he can't wait to cum. He can feel it building-- the tightness, the spreading sensation.  The desperate need to cum is about to take over him when Sherlock finally speaks.

 

"Please?" He says.  

John lets go and cum spurts out, a bit drops on the carpet, and the rest trickles out his head. He keeps stroking, needy to feel every moment of the orgasm. His vision goes white then black then white again. His chest is burning a bit and he tries to gasp in air, return to breathing normal. It feels so good and it's exactly what he wanted to happen today. His eyes slowly drift open and he sees Sherlock has moved closer, within arms reach now. 

 

John runs two fingers over his cock and coats them with cum, moves his fingers to Sherlock's lips and spreads it over the top lip then moves to coat the bottom as well. Before his fingers make a retreat Sherlock's tongue reaches out to lick at John's fingers then licks at his cum-covered lips.

 

John smiles.

 

"Fuckin gorgeous," he says. Sherlock, despite having just watched John wank, seems to be embarrassed by this. He turns away just a bit. John can almost see the blush and that just makes his smile turn into a full grin.

 

Sherlock then looks completely away, clears his throat. "Well. I'll let you get dressed."

 

John has no time to respond before Sherlock stands and sweeps from the room, closing the door behind him. He falls back onto his bed, looks up at the ceiling and wonders what happens next.


End file.
